But to Be Alone

"How terrible it is to be called beautiful, smart, and strong but end up being alone every night."

I'm not sure that people understand the loneliness that accompanies widows of any age. When you lose that someone from your life that was there everyday, that you depended on for conversation and silliness, that you needed for physical contact and attention, their absence is so distinctly magnified.

It's not solely because sex is now gone.
You miss your partner, your companion.

You miss the person you showered with or heard showering in the morning.
You miss the routine of sharing coffee together or waking up to get ready for work.
You miss the person who was your alarm clock, the first face you saw in the morning.
You miss the person that helped you get the dogs fed and potty or walks.
You miss the person you text or called in the middle of the day, sometimes just because.
You miss the reason to stop and buy a bottle of wine just because it's just a beautiful day outside and you want to relax and share that moment with your Love.
You miss the person you made dinner for.
You miss your advisor when a big meeting is coming up.
You miss your couch snuggle buddy.

You miss your TV series partner.
You miss the experience of pillow talk.
You miss the one that held your hand, welcomed you home with a hug, put their hands on your hips when you were standing around waiting for dinner or in line.
You miss the person that always slept closer to the door, stood closest to the street, watched as you were out in public, told you you were beautiful, paid attention when you talked, formed plans with you.
You miss the perk of sleeping in on weekends.
You miss the person that made you feel safe.
You miss the person you know always loved you, would protect you and care for you.
You miss the person you longed to care for.






Physical contact decreases significantly for widowed...I cry when I get a hug sometimes just because there are massive stretches where I literally don't get physical contact with another human being. I remember someone reaching out to hold my hand as a gesture of comfort and it was surreal. I miss having an arm around me in public, a body to reach over to in the middle of the night, who I know would be first to the door. I remember a woman telling me I was "so pretty" and crying because I'd not heard that in months. You might hear "you look like you're good" or "you're looking good" but you don't hear the compliments often, or when you do, they're laced with pity.

My other half - the one that made me more lively, encouraged me out of my comfort zone, was the eye roll culprit in my social interactions - is missing and those pieces of him that I played off and behavioral pieces that tweaked, inside jokes that were shared as part of an "us" have just vaporized.

It's not that I have no go-to when a new movie was out. It's not that holidays aren't looked forward to because I won't see the appreciation on his face over a great gift. It's not that I don't go to restaurants any longer because it seems pointless to keep eating out alone. It's not that I now leave the Emergency Contact box empty. It's all the little things, all the tiny pieces where he filled my life with happiness that accumulate and make Ryan's absence so painfully obvious to me.